


"heart on canvas," kim myungjun, 2018

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Long-Distance, M/M, Romance, artist!MJ, based on mk's series WITH YOU, bc its my new guilty pleasure in 2018, myungbin, office worker!bin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: they have a painting of the beach sunset, and of some fruit, and of myungjun's heart.





	"heart on canvas," kim myungjun, 2018

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snibnoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snibnoom/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tied Right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212285) by [snibnoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snibnoom/pseuds/snibnoom). 



> TO [@snibnoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snibnoom/pseuds/snibnoom), who has become hyped on myungbin and who is great to talk to and who deserves an amazing birthday today!!!
> 
> also go read all of her fics bc they're such a blast! (im a little biased towards the myungbin ones wink wink)

Bin tossed and turned in bed, the blankets pooled around his legs and the pillows strewn about right above his head. He had thought maybe positioning himself at a lower elevation and forgoing his pillows would help him actually sleep, but so far, nothing had offered any sort of relief. He had counted sheep, he drank a warm glass of milk, and he turned on the old white noise machine he kept hidden away in his closet.

And nothing at all offered any sort of assistance.

He groaned, stuffing his head underneath one of the pillows before peeking out at the clock by the far bedside table.

 _3:53AM_.

“Come _on_ ,” he grumbled to himself, and he sat up slowly, running his fingers through tangled, brown hair and tapping his other hand against his knees.

He had work in the morning, bright and early. He had to be at the office on time to finish some paperwork he _swore_ he would get to later. Dongmin had been waiting on it long enough, anyway, and if he delayed it another day because he was too tired, he was certain that his coworker would march right into his apartment and do it all himself.

(Not that Bin would _mind_ , per say, it was just that he would rather not spend his evening listening to Dongmin complain and fuss at him.)

Bin hardly ever had trouble getting to sleep. He _loved_ to sleep, and his body would cave into exhaustion the moment his head would hit the pillow. He was out like a light, and difficult to wake. But now, even when he dozed off for a few seconds, he would open his eyes at the smallest of sounds and would be left with a dark, empty bedroom.

He searched on his phone simple taglines of “how to sleep,” and “i cant fall asleep what do i do,” but none of the advice worked. Instead, it just left him moping about, realizing he had taken sleep for granted just three nights before. He only wondered for a brief moment what had changed – it took one glance to the far side of his bed to sigh and understand _why_ he was left in this sleepless state.

“Myungjun,” he murmured, reaching a hand over to pat the cold bedsheets beside him.

He hadn't forgotten that Myungjun had left on a business trip just three days ago. He had _hoped_ that it wasn't the reason he was so tired, but when he truly thought it through, he _knew_ that was the only explanation. Three nights ago was the first time Bin couldn't sleep.

He sighed again and flopped back down into his pillows, staring up at the ceiling for a few seconds before glancing over at the wall. Through the dim light creeping in through their windows that overlooked busy streets, he could just make out Myungjun's paintings.

One was of the ocean, with tumbling, blue waves and a sky painted with the colors of a sunset, all orange and yellow and pink. Clouds littered the landscape, casting small shadows down below them, and the small remains of a child's sandcastle, ready to be consumed by the water, was tucked away into the distance, forgotten by the young boy who had made it.

(Bin had stared out at the scene at their little beach house Myungjun rented as a surprise. He smiled as the sun began to fall asleep, safely hidden behind them, lighting up the sky and reminding Bin of a painting.

“Hey, Myungjun,” he called out, and his boyfriend popped his head out from the restroom, still towel-drying his hair, his skin sun-kissed and his eyes alight with excitement. “Myungjun, come here.” Bin gestured him over, and Myungjun hurried forward, a wide smile on his face.

“What's up?”

Bin pointed outside and grinned right back at the smaller male. “It looks almost like one of your paintings.”

Myungjun hummed appreciatively. “I've never painted a beach sunset.”

“I bet if you did, it'd look even better than this.”

“Would it?” Myungjun mused, and Bin wrapped his arms around Myungjun, kissing his tanned cheek and feeling the warmth still seeping from his skin. “Because I try and paint things to look _as good_ as the world around us. I doubt anything could ever beat this sky.”

Bin snorted and nuzzled his nose into Myungjun's neck, bending slightly to do so. “You beat it.”

“Ha.”

“You do. I'd rather look at you than a thousand of these stupid sunsets.”

“Shut up. You _love_ sunsets.” Myungjun pulled Bin away and kissed his forehead, standing up on his toes in order to do so. “Binnie, wait here. I'll paint you a sunset.”

They spent the rest of their night in the living room as Myungjun painted, newspapers set underneath him to catch any spills, small flecks of paint already in his freshly-washed hair, and Bin seated behind him, smiling brightly as Myungjun created life on a canvas board.)

Another painting on the other side of the room was a still-life. It was a little messy, the paint of the orange a little smudged onto the banana, which was more of an odd mustard yellow. There was a long, pink line at the bottom, fading out near the edge of the canvas, and the far corner of the painting had the color wiped off, revealing a blank slate underneath.

(“Why are you _painting?_ ” Bin asked, his head spinning as he leaned back on their couch and tried to focus his gaze on his giggling boyfriend, who had just set up his easel and stuck a canvas up on top of that. “Myung _junnn_ , let's go to bed.”

“No!” Myungjun responded. His voice was high-pitched and it cracked a little bit, but he was fueled with determination as he struggled to open one of his more expensive paints. “Binnie, help?”

“I can't even _stand_ ,” Bin complained, groaning and letting his head lean back into the couch cushions. “Why did we drink that much?”

Myungjun scoffed. He finally opened the tube of paint, though a little squirted out and spilled onto the floor below them. Bin wondered how they could get paint out of the carpet. He hoped he could figure it out before the landlord noticed. “I didn't drink a thing,” Myungjun declared, nearly falling over where he sat in his chair, his balance a little askew and his glasses dipping down his nose.

“You drank more than I did!”

Myungjun waved his paintbrush. “Drunk people have artistic thoughts!”

“You just put out a, a banana, and an _orange_. And a plastic bowl beside them – are you, you painting a _plastic bowl_ , Junnie?”

“It's called a still life, which you would know if you were cultured.”

Bin moved, letting himself lay across the couch. He moaned out and closed his eyes. “ _Junnie_ ,” he whined, “I want to go to bed.”

“Then-” A hiccup interrupted Myungjun, but he recovered, “-go to bed.”

“You know I can't sleep without you by my side.”

“Wait until I finish this, then.” Myungjun had his eyes narrowed in concentration. He pushed his glasses further up on his face – he smeared paint on the wire frame. Bin decided against telling him. Instead, Bin watched as Myungjun sloppily prepared his artwork, the paint being transported from his palette to the canvas with little preparation and absolutely no coordination. And, yet, half an hour in, and Bin could already see the shapes having formed and the drunken painting looking somehow similar to the set-up on the kitchen table.

But, of course, half an hour later, Bin was antsy, and sobered a little, and _quite_ ready for bed. He rolled off the couch and stumbled to his feet before shuffling over to Myungjun.

“ _Baaaabeeee_ ,” he whined, wrapping his arms around Myungjun's shoulders. The brush moved – the orange paint was smeared into the banana.

“Binnie, you messed it up!”

“It's an abstract now,” Bin murmured.

“No it isn't!”

Bin sighed, and with his finger, mixed a little of the red paint with some of the white paint. He then brushed it down towards the bottom of the painting, continuing until his finger was devoid of its paint, and then he kissed Myungjun's cheek.

“Now it is.”

Myungjun sighed, but he made no move to fix either of the mistakes. Instead, he continued.

Bin left another mark, now near the upper-left corner. And, this time, Myungjun wiped it clean with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Binnie, stop!”

“Come to bed, then. It's basically finished.”

Myungjun still hadn't seemed to sober up completely. He leaned back, his chair tilting, and Bin just barely managed to catch him before he fell over. “Time for bed,” Bin whispered, snatching the palette and paintbrush out of Myungjun's hands and setting them aside on the kitchen table.

Myungjun made a slight fuss, reaching out to grab his supplies, but Bin easily scooped him up into his arms, strong hands holding him back.

It wasn't too difficult, though; Myungjun was almost limbless in Bin's embrace, instantly curling into his chest and yawning. His breath smelled of beer and his hair was a mess, but Bin decided he loved him very much, even when he was a wreck.

“Mm, Binnie, what about the brushes? And, and my easel? We need to clean up.”

“We will in the morning,” Bin responded, remembering the paint stain on the white carpet.

They _did_ clean in the morning, Bin with a headache and Myungjun bright and cheery. They laughed, too, at the stupid painting. Myungjun always claimed he would toss it, but instead he stored it in his studio.

Bin framed it and hung it up for Myungjun's birthday. Myungjun called him an idiot.

Myungjun never did take it down, though.)

And, finally, Bin moved slightly, smiling a little bit as he stared at the painting hanging just above their bed. It was the largest of all of them and Myungjun's most experimental piece yet: a piece someone would find in a science fiction movie, perhaps, the dark expanse of space as the background. It was painted from the point of view of “maybe an alien” (Myungjun's words were, as he showed off and explained his painting), staring out from its home planet at two other distant planets. One was of a moon, crescent in shape, shadows all across one side of it. The other was of a sun, bright and burning and beautiful.

(“This really isn't my usual style,” Myungjun murmured to him, giggling lightly as he led a blindfolded Bin into his art studio. “It's really weird. You might hate it.”

“I'd never hate any of your paintings,” Bin assured him, stepping cautiously into the room. “Junnie, don't make me fall, please.”

“I got you, Bin. Keep coming.”

“You could have just shown me the painting. There's no need for this whole show.”

“It's _romantic_. And it's our anniversary, so let me be romantic!” Myungjun stopped Bin in his tracks with a gentle hand pressed to his chest. The door was shut behind them, and Bin could hear Myungjun straightening up.

Bin whined, fingers tugging at his blindfold. “Junnie-”

“Wait!” Myungjun rushed back to him, if his footsteps were indication of that, and then took a deep breath. “I hope you don't hate it.”

“Of course I won't. Can I take the blindfold off now?”

“Um...s-sure.” Myungjun sounded nervous, and when Bin pulled off the blindfold, he realized that Myungjun _looked_ nervous. He was biting down on his lip and wringing his fingers out in front of him. “It might be a crappy anniversary gift, but, uh-”

And then he stepped aside, revealing his futuristic painting – _far_ different than his norm of beautiful landscapes and elegant portraits. This was rougher, sharper, the colors more distinct, less blended. It was still as professional as ever, though; but everything was when it came to Myungjun's artwork.

Bin marveled at it, his eyes widening. Myungjun must have taken his silence as a bad thing, for he quickly stepped in to explain.

“I-It's, um, from the point of view of...of maybe an alien, I'm not sure,” Myungjun said. “But he's – it's – looking at, um, a moon-” He pointed, “-and, and the sun.” He pointed again, then swallowed thickly. “Y-You always call me _sunshine_ , so I thought...and-and I always call you Mr. Moon, and I thought it was a cute idea-”

Bin was blinking past tears. “You painted this for _me?_ ” he choked out.

Myungjun glanced up at him in shock. “Bin! It's not that big of a deal! Honest, it's probably such a stupid concept, I just-”

Bin hurried forward and gathered Myungjun in a tight hug, pulling him close at first before moving back and planting kisses all across his face, on every exposed inch of skin he could find. He felt giddy, so incredibly joyful and blessed, to have _Myungjun_ as his boyfriend.

He laughed, loudly and excitedly, and then kissed Myungjun right on the lips, soft and slow and sensual. When he released Myungjun to give him some breath, he was beaming.

“I love you,” he blurted out. “I love you. I love _this_ , so much – can we hang it above our bed? Oh my god, I want to see this every morning. I want to see _you_ every morning. My sunshine. My sunbeam. My sunlight.”

Myungjun's anxiety was dissipating. He laughed as well, light in tone and pitch, and then pulled Bin back in for more kisses.

It became Bin's favorite art piece ever.)

Bin shuffled around, grabbing his phone again and tugging it from the charger. The bright screen made him blink and squint his eyes, but after a minute, he grew used to it, and it gave him the opportunity to turn on his flashlight and aim it right at the painting.

Listed at the bottom right corner, in Myungjun's beautiful handwriting, was the title.

(“I couldn't get a plaque made in time, so I wrote it _on_ the canvas, and I know it's tacky-”

“It's perfect. Shut up, Myungjun, let's keep making out.”)

Bin smiled and ran his fingers over the Hangul, mouthing them out as he read it.

“ _Heart on canvas, Kim Myungjun, 2018._ ”

And then he whispered, “Perfect."

He plugged his phone back in and collapsed onto the bed.; now rather than being plagued with exhaustion and frustration, he felt soft inside, as if his insides had turned into mush and his heart had taken up wings and flown away. Myungjun always managed to make him feel better, even while absent.

The only thing that was more amazing than Myungjun's paintings, though, was Myungjun himself.

With a groan, he rolled out of his bed, feet catching him on the floor before he tumbled to the ground. The carpet was a little cold, and he knew he'd have to remember that winter was coming and perhaps the AC shouldn't run as often, but that wasn't his goal for the evening.

His goal was his laptop, located in the living room off to the far side of the wall. It was perched on his desk, still open, and a few sticky-notes from work were laid out beside it. He ignored those, too, in favor of wiggling his mouse and taking a seat.

 _Four missed calls_.

His heart beat wildly in his chest. He hadn't even realized someone had been trying to video chat him, and he excitedly pulled up the program and checked his messages.

All of them were from Myungjun, along with a few words of, _Bin i know youre not asleep pls answer me ;A;_.

“Gladly,” Bin muttered, and he hit the CALL button, then sat back to wait.

Myungjun connected after a few rings, looking tired, a mask covering the lower portion of his face (the one Bin bought him, with kitty-cat whiskers and a cute button nose), but Bin could tell he was grinning from the way his cheeks pushed his eyes upwards. “Binnie!” he greeted, voice muffled from behind the fabric. “Binnie, I'm sorry, but I can't sleep without you.”

Bin giggled and he leaned forward, staring lovingly at his screen where Myungjun's face was. He reached out touch it gently, and he wondered if anyone had thought of a teleportation device yet. He would quite love one.

“I can't sleep without you, either,” he admitted gently.

“My exhibition opening was boring.”

“I wish I was there.”

“It'd be more fun if you were.”

Bin sighed. “What time is it in China?”

“Earlier than it is in Korea.” Myungjun lay on his side now, the laptop pushed a little bit away, but he never once broke eye contact. Even if Bin had to tilt his head to stare properly at his boyfriend, he still refused to leave. “I have to be up in two hours for my flight home.”

“Thank _god_.”

Myungjun laughed, snuggling down into his covers and letting his cheek rest against his pillow. “Stay with me while I sleep?”

Bin got more comfortable in his chair, feeling exhaustion set in, knowing _now_ that he was quite ready, too, to finally fall asleep. “Of course I will.”

“And pick me up at the airport tomorrow?”

“I wouldn't miss it.”

Myungjun was grinning again, though he closed his eyes this time with a slight murmur of, “I love you more than anything, Binnie.”

Bin couldn't help but return Myungjun's smile, even if the older man was unable to see it. “More than all the stars in the sky?”

“Let me sleep, you moron.”

Bin laughed, and he curled up in his chair and nodded his head, leaning back against the seat and closing his own eyes.

Before he drifted to sleep, he could have sworn he heard Myungjun whisper, “More than all the stars in the sky.”

But there was no need to even say anything. Bin already knew.

 

**Author's Note:**

> GO WISH MK A HAPPY BIRTHDAY [@snibnoom!](http://www.snibnoom.tumblr.com)


End file.
